


The Ambivalence of Butterflies

by Dragon_Heart_String



Category: Draco Malfoy - Fandom, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Accidental Drug Use, Adult Hermione Granger, Butterflies, Butterfly Effect, Canon Divergence - Post-Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, F/M, Falling In Love, Good Draco Malfoy, Good Theodore Nott, MACUSA | Magical Congress of the United States of America, Mental Health Issues, Oblivious Draco Malfoy, POV Draco Malfoy, Post-Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Post-War, Soft Draco Malfoy, Tattooed Draco Malfoy, Unredeemed Draco Malfoy, Wizarding World (Harry Potter), dramione - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-13 01:42:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29643888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragon_Heart_String/pseuds/Dragon_Heart_String
Summary: Draco thought it was a pretty prison. The insanity between the walls was only covered by the facade of warm tea and clean linens. A way for wizarding society to discard ‘troubled young witches and wizards without seeming inhumane.The relocation program was created with the "betterment of troubled  young witches and wizards in mind": that was the story the Daily Prophet had reported on. Draco thought it was a joke at first- relocation to the United States seemed too extreme for a newly headed governmental body - but a week later it came to fruition at the Wizgenmont.Nearly 10 months later, in the MACUSA probation division Draco Malfoy was awaiting trial. His witnesses? The last two people on earth he'd though he see: Harry Potter and Hermione Granger.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 3
Kudos: 7





	1. Trials

If there was one person Draco Malfoy was not expecting to see at the MACUSA Probation Division, it was Harry Potter. 

Draco hadn’t seen the scar-headed hero of the Wizarding World since the funerals the summer after the Battle of Hogwarts. Even then, he had only catched a glance at him through the swarms of reporters and adoring fans at his late professor's burial time. Severus Snape had been laid to rest in the same Graveyard as James and Lily Potter in Godric’s Hollow on Harry Potter’s personal request. Draco never asked why. He just showed up in his blacksuit, with his head down. 

But here he was, standing at a pedestal above him in the local trial room. Head held high, and fingers nervously shuffling with his papers in his hands, and staring directly at him with an undetectable look plastered across his face. 

At first Draco thought it was a scowl, a smirk that could rival his own. But then he recognized something much, much worse. 

Harry Potter was looking down at him with pity and Draco hated it. 

“Could the witness please confirm the following with a simple yes or no statement before we proceed?” The High Witch of the proceeding trail spoke out, directing at both Harry and Draco; Harry to respond, and Draco to listen. Draco didn’t move from his seated position, not even a glance at the witch who was conducting his long awaited trail. He simply nodded at the same time Potter did. 

Draco wanted to laugh at what was unfolding in front of him. After a year of awaiting trial in a forgen country, somehow his lawyer had managed to convince Harry Potter to testify at his probation trail. The same Harry Potter whom he had teased at Hogwarts. The same Harry Potter who was held captive at his childhood home. The same Harry Potter who he was sure wanted him dead the minute the war started. He was there. 

“Harry James Potter, you stand as witness to defend Draco Lucious Malfoy before the MACUSA Ridgemont as a personal witness?” The question caught Draco off his guard. Potter was here on his own accord? Had that meant his lawyers had not contacted him? Or that they had and Harry had responded? Draco was fully aware of the mechanics of magical law, both in England and in the United States.  
“Yes” 

“You also stand in place of witness Hermione Jean Granger for this trial?”

“Yes, she is with the Hogwarts Headmistress at the moment, she sends her regrets” 

That puzzled Draco more. If there was a second person Draco Malfoy was not expecting to defend him in any capacity, was Hermione Granger. The Hmerione Granger whom he had tormented and bullied on something as ridiculous as Blood Status. The Hermione Granger he’d hexed to make her buck teeth bigger in their adolescence. The Hermione Granger who’d nearly died on his Drawing room floor at the hands of his deranged Aunt Bellatrix. If Harry Potter had reason to hate him, Hermione Granger probably wanted a death warrant for him. 

But as it would seem, neither of them did at the moment. 

“Final question. Do you consent to your testimony, any evidence you bring forward, and any memories you’ve submitted to the council, being available on public documents? This will include Miss Granger’s testimony and memories.” 

“Yes” 

“Then we can proceed” with Harry’s initial questioning being completed in record time. The High Witch turned to Draco to begin her initial proceeding of him. 

“Draco Malfoy you stand accused of being a Death Eater sympathizer during the war. Draco Malfoy, you also stand accused of fleeing England in the initial track down of Death Eaters in May of 1989. How do you plead?”

Draco turned to his layer, Headon Clearwater, who nodded his head to respond to the allegation like they had discussed in their meeting the day before. Clearwater had prepared him for the possibility that the council may try to add more charges onto his file to secure a longer punishment sentence. 

“Guilty to the first. Not Guilty to the second, reasoned under clause 19 of the ‘Family Seniority Objective’”. 

That once clause in both the MACUSA and the English Ministry was how Draco was saved from an immediate broom ride to Azkaban. During the second Wizarding War he was still a minor, and therefore could be protected by the “Family Seniority Objective”. His Mother and father had insisted they flee to a second home in France almost immediately after the funeral service of Severus Snape, which they had not attended. They had returned to England before his birthday in June.

The council knew about the clause, they knew both his statements before he had even said them. It was routine for the defendant to submit a statement before the trail’s beginning, they just needed clarification:and the look he got from the High Witch showed that she clearly had wished he decided to plead Guilty to both accounts. Anyone of any age could be accused of being a Death Eater sympathizer, and the family laws didn;t protect the offspring of Death Eaters. Draco had heard a rumor that they had tried to accuse a twelve year old, but McGonagell interjected before anything could come of it. 

“Mr Potter, Please proceed with your prepared statements” 

“Ladies and Gentlemen of the council, I stand here today on Behalf of myself, and Miss Granger to defend the wartime actions of a minor. You were all presented with a rather lengthy letter from Miss Granger to which I will only read a few statements, but rest assured I believe every word and smeared ink droplet that she wrote”

That was exactly when Draco realized where this trial was going. Hermione Granger, stark defender of elvish rights, creator of SPEW, was appalled at the mere impression of a trail of someone whose acts were carried out by a minor during war. Hermione Granger, who even after years of torment from him, hadn’t changed one bit and was going to give the council an earful from across the ocean. 

“The contents of this letter shouldn't even be necessary, nor should they be questioned from any self-respecting witch or wizard of the council. An 18 year-old being on trial for an act he barely even committed as a minor is absolutely ridiculous, especially when considering the flimsy arguments that can be made in his case. Draco Malfoy was a child without a choice, and this is coming from a Muggle Born Witch who's been on the receiving end of his verbal torment, and his wand.” Draco saw Potter take a deep breath, indecisive of something about to get much, much more interesting.

“Under clause 19 of the ‘Family Seniority Objective’ Mr Malfoy should be cleared of any and all charges. As a minor, acting under the guidance of his Mother and Father, one of whom is dead, and the other on indefinite House Arrest, who groomed him from birth to be prejudiced to blood status, and then fed him to Voldemort like piece of meat to wolves. The only reason you haven't cleared him is because the term’ Death Eater’ does not appear in any piece of legislation or reconciliation act that has been created by either England or the United States to date.”

Draco nearly made a scoffing noise at that. Where Granger had done all her research into clause 19, possibly more than his own lawyer had, she had neglected in detail. The permanent reminder on his left forearm. The damming symbol earning him this trail. 

“And about that Dark Mark on his arm… There are now laws in place regulating minor’s duty to a terrorist organization, let alone and inactive duty, which is what the defendant was. If you will recall, Draco Malfoy carried out zero successful missions as a Death Eater. His branding of Voldemort’s symbol was a symbolic power play orchestrated by his Father to reconcile for his own failures as a servant” 

Or apparently she hadn't neglected to mention his Dark Mark. The very mark Draco had spent weeks trying to research to get it off. He’d been close to skinning himself alive when the homeowner found him one night: it was the night his mother had been sent to House arrest forever, damned inside the Manor. 

“Lastly, aside from the readiness of the council to find a loophole to convict him to a similar fate as his mother. The memory I have provided shows Draco Malfoy withholding information from Senior Ranking Death Eaters - including his parents- that allowed for the escape of Myself, Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley, Luna Lovegood, Dean Tomas, Olivander, and Griphook”. 

He shuddered at remembering the evening more than a year ago. He’d been called down to his mother’s drawing room on orders of his father. He hadn't been told what he was for until he was staring at the disfigured face of Harry Potter, right there kneeling on the marble floors of the Manor. 

There was no denying that Draco was looking at Harry Potter. Despite the puffy face, crooked nose, and elongated chin, Draco could still take you the faint imprint of a lightning scar across his forehead. On either side of him, kneeling as well, was Hmerione Granger and Ronald Weasley with their physical appearance intact - apart from obvious injury and dirt. 

Then he lied. 

He looked his father directly in the eye and told him that it wasn’t them.

The Dark Lord was never summoned, but merely minutes later Hermione Granger was still sprawled out on the floor with blood dripping down the side of her arms. He’d been able to save them from Voldemort, but there was nothing he could do about Bellatrix. 

In that moment in the Manor, Draco wanted nothing more than to disappear and never hear the sounds of tortured screaming again. The sound of “Crucio” leaving his aunt’s lips, and the flash of light before Granger was writhing in pain on her knees nearly caused him to blackout. He’d been presnet for far too much torture the past year, and he was breaking.

“Mr Potter, please tip the memory vial in the Pensive so that Miss Granger’s memories may be observed by the entity of the people present” 

Draco saw him tip the small silver vail into the large bowl at his left side. Still high above him on the platform, Potter looked at him reassuringly. Draco hated that. He hadn’t braced himself to see that day again, and he could only pray that Granger’s memory was going to be cut out before her strangled scream filled the trail room. 

A large spout of silver water burst forth from the pensive, filling the ceiling with suspended water to allow for a larger viewing. Instantaneously the drawing room filled the scene and Draco saw himself approaching in the memory. 

“Draco …. It's them, Draco, its theme?” His Aunt almost skipped over to him in giddy pleasure at finding a group of minors on the run. Draco watched his face remain plain and unwavering - distant of any emotion. Gripping his shoulder, Bellatrix hurled him to stand in front of the Golden Trio.

“See it's them .. call the Dark Lord! We’ve got Harry Potter!” 

“Bella, let Draco speak before you call him, you don’t want to be mistaken again” his mother’s voice bellowed, cutting off Bellatrix from her giddy speech. Draco looked from Granger to Weaslery at Potter’s side, it was certainly them. 

“I can’t be sure” he heard himself speak through the pensive face still blanke, tone stiff and cold. 

The memories disappeared at his words, the silver water still hovering above them as he saw Potter procure another vail from his jacket pocket.He tipped the liquide in, and Draco’s fears were confirmed with the image that stared back at him.  
Above his head, spelled out across the pensive liquid for himself and the whole counsel to see was Hmerione Granger's tiff body lain across the marble floors of Malfoy Manor. 

Draco felt the savers run up and down his spine as he gulped, gasping for air as the memory started to play out. 

She wasn’t screaming, thank Merlin for that, but she was laying there unable to move. Tears streamed down her face at a steady flow. Mirroring the flow of her tears was the flow of a single blood trail down her arm from where ‘Mudblood’ had been carefully etched into her skin. Draco was trying not to look at it, instead he focussed on her face. Terrified, tear- stained, with wide eyes staring at something across the room. 

Him. 

In her state of anguish, body tortured by the cruciatus curse blood spilled from her where she was torn open with a blade, but she was staring at him. Draco saw himself flinch in the memory as her eyes narrowed in on him and recognition stilled across her features.

He remembered this part too. Where his mother had come over to him and placed her hand on his shoulder, squeezing the bone and willing him not to run. Run away, or to her. Narcissa knew exactly what her son was thinking, and it would have gotten him, and everyone inside that Manor killed. 

Whether or not Granger saw it, he had never known. He sometimes wondered if she’d seen the way he’d shoved his hand in his pocket when Bellatrix ran towards her. Or the way he’d flinched at her screaming, or when his mother came slowly over to him. The fact that she’d disclosed this memory seems to imply she had seen something. Thought she had strategically left out her tortured screams - he wondered if that was for her sake or everyone else's. 

When the memory finally disappeared, and the silver water was contained back in the bowl beside Potter, Draco was created with the shocked face of the High Witch. Clearly she had expected an open and shut case, what with the expected arrival of Harry Potter, and the testimony of Granger at her feet- she was going to be deprived of that. 

“Mr Potter, is there anything else you would like to disclose to the council on behalf of Draco Malfoy?”

Potter gave Draco a devilish grin, and he knew that however hard Granger had made it for them to secure a maximum punishment, Potter was about to make it ten times worse. 

“It was Draco Malfoy’s wand that allowed me to take down Voldemor in the Final Battle of Hogwarts” 

Silence. 

***

The council didn’t reconvene that day after Harry Potter and Hermione Granger’s testimony. Headon Clearwater had told Draco that it was a good thing, that they had been presented with too much evidence from two thirds of the Golden Trio to convict him without doubts. 

The Ministry of Magic’s urgency to relocate witches and wizards into a relocation program had meant that most children of Death Eaters were no longer on English soil. They had been spread out around the world for both their safety and to ease the public eye: at the expense of children. 

The relocation program was created with the "betterment of troubled young witches and wizards in mind": that was the story the Daily Prophet had reported on. Draco thought it was a joke at first- relocation to the United States seemed too extreme for a newly headed governmental body - but a week later it came to fruition at the Wizgenmont. 

Nearly 3 months concluding the Battle of Hogwarts, 2 months after returning from France with just his mother, and Draco found himself in a guarded, thereal driven carriage to the United States. They put him up with several other english witches and wizards in an old house in the country, guard twenty four seven by MACUSA Guards, and run by an old witch. It was House Arrest, but the nicest form it, and Draco suspected the only reason for the niceties was because some of the occupants of the house were still minors upon arrival, and not all of them had the unfortunate burden of being branded with a Dark Mark. 

Draco had never lived in a convent for obvious reasons, but if he had to imagine what it was , his living situation seemed like a similar objective. They had separate rooms from one another all across one long hallway. Every three rooms were separated by a communal bathroom, and at one end of the hallway a lounge room, and the other a kitchen. With the little time they had been given for notice, most of the people had very few personal possessions to their name. Draco himself had only arrived with the clothes on his back, one set of robes, two books, and his wand - which was very quickly confiscated. 

Draco thought it was a pretty prison. The insanity between the walls was only covered by the facade of warm tea and clean linens. A way for wizarding society to discard ‘troubled young witches and wizards’ without seeming inhumane. 

Where there was no harm, there was no injustice. 

It was apparent that Hermione Granger had seen right through the wizarding elite’s publicity scandal, and she spared no ill word calling them out at his trial. Even through Harry Potter’s reading of her letter Draco could hear her screaming it in his head. She was livid, and she was right in every sense of the word. 

As Draco laid staring at the ceiling is his ‘room’ he thought about the passion in her words. Passion directed at him for a reason he did not know. He had no right to her sympathy, to Potter’s pity, or to their combined help. They should have argued to let him rot in Azkaban, or locked him up in his Manor with his mother: but they wanted him cleared of charges, they hadn’t even lobbied to lessen them, they wanted them gone. 

Granger was not one to back down from a challenge though, and He figured that was what this was. Another equity-driven challenge that she could use her big brain to solve. He wasn’t blind to the fact that what was going on with the children of Death Eaters was unjustified, especially the ones who were still children and should have attended Hogwarts this year. If he could see the problem with it, Granger’s blood was probably boiling. 

But why him? 

Of all people the pair of them chose to defend him. Why hadn’t they defended 15 year old Anna Hetorage down the hall. She was a child, she’d lost both parents during the battle, and she had no Dark Mark. Most importantly, the poor girl had no history with the golden trio like he did. Unless he was a trail run for them, testing where they could pull the council, or testing how much ifnlfcne they had as war heros, Draco was completely dumbfounded as to why they chose him. 

A knock at the door caused the thoughts and questions to tumble out of his head. 

“Yes?” he bellowed, not bothering to sit up on his bed. He heard the door creak open. There was no locking capability on the doors, it was against the rules. Even without his wand, there was no muggle switch locks. 

“Umm, this came by owl for you” Anna spoke softly placing the letter on the dresser by the door. “It’s from the MACUSA Head Office'' that shot him off the bed and onto his feet. 

The Envelope on his dresser did indeed carry the scarlet emblem of the MACUSA office, it was like someone stabbed him in the chest. Anticipation built from his toes upwards and he was able to manage a thank you before all sound was lost in the ball that rose in his throat. 

“Thank you Hetorage” Anna nodded and left, closing the door behind her. 

Draco picked up the letter in his hands, staring down at it. This sealed his fate. Whether it was Askaban, the damm convent, or freedom forever. In this letter was the end or the beginning of his life. He simultaneously wanted to rip it open and rip it up. 

Shuddering and with shaking fingers, he peeled back the wax seal and pulled the parchment free to reveal the delicate printed script. His heart stopped for a moment as she fell back into a seated position on his bed. The words of the page blurred as he tried to read, he could only make one word at time, none of which fit together to form a coherent thought. Closing his eyes momentarily he took a deep breath and tried again, this time he could accurately take out the words on the page. 

To Defendant Draco Malfoy,

The MACUSA Head Office of Probation and War Crimes has convened and decided the outcome of your charges represented today in front of the council. On the charges of Death Eater Sympathy and Feeling the Country under Active Arrest the defendant pleaded Guilty, and Not Guilty Respectively. By order of the High Witch residing over your trail, you have been found Guilty and Not Guilty. You will be sentenced to 5 years open probation, with regulated access to your family vault and a mandated position within the MACUSA Ministry to allow for active rehabilitation and surveillance. 

Enclosed you will find a copy of your allowances and restrictions of your wand use, vaults access, and details of your new position within the Bureau of War Reconciliation and Rebuilding. Your situation within the boarding house will remain the same for the next six months as you are transitioned into the United States Wizarding Society. You are banned from international travel, and one your orientation at the bureau you will receive magical restrictions on your wand. 

Failure to comply with the council’s decision will not result in retrial. Failure to comply with the restrictions will result in immediate transportation of Azkaban. 

The Bureaus expects your arrival in four days time. 

Sighed, High Witch Eden of the MACUSA Head Office of Probation and War Crimes. 

Draco dropped the paper insticley, it felt life fire in hands. Burning his fingertips with the possibility for freedom. Long-awaited at best, but still freedom nonetheless.

They had done it: Harry Potter and Hmerione Granger had kept him out of Azkaban. Furthermore their testimony had given him an opportunity he thought he'd never get. He’d be given a job, one that was meant to monitor him, and centred around community service as an act of retribution, but it was a job no less. He’d get his wand back. With restriction: he’d get access to his vaults, with restrictions. 

He could see the light of day through the cloud of darkness in his vision.

Hope. 

They had done it, and he certainly hadn’t earned it. 

Climbing shakily off his bed, Draco sat down at the desk by the window in his small bedroom. The room he’d only be forced to stay in for another six months. Grabbing a quill and parchment from the small stack at the edges of the mahogany desk, he started to pen the script without second thought. 

Dear Granger…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's chapter one! I have good feeling about this pic, I am positively bursting with ideas for post-war fluffiness. Stay tuned for chapters 2-3 (they will be published at the same time). 
> 
> I hope you've enjoyed, leave any messages in the comments :)


	2. Dear Granger

Dear Granger, 

I don’t think there are even the right words to capture what I need to say to you, but I guess thank you is a start. 

Immediately followed by: what the hell? Why me? How have I earned your respect or trust or even a mere passing by of thoughts? 

You should have let me rot in a cell, Merlin knew I deserved it after everything I've done. Everything I’ve done to you is inexcusable. I don’t know how you thought I deserved even an ounce of mercy. That letter you wrote should have blasted me into oblivion, should have given me a one way ticket to a moldy cell for the rest of life. 

There are better people to give your time too. All the children torn away from England in the relocation program deserve your help, your mercy, and your sharp tongue for justifying inequalities. But not me Granger, not me. I don’t deserve any of it. 

I think what I’m trying, and failing, to say is that I’m sorry. 

I’m sorry. I don’t think I don’t think I have enough parchment to tell you how sorry I am, or to apologize for everything I’ve ever done to you. So I hope you'll accept a blanket statement to cover it all. I’m so sorry Granger. 

I’m sorry for thinking you were lesser than, you certainly are not, and I know now that you never were. 

I know you say something in me form that second memory, and you were right. I’m still trying to figure it out myself. What I was truly thinking in that moment eludes even me to this day, but you were more than right to think there was something. You're always right, you know that? 

I don’t think I’ll ever be able to thank you enough, and I hope you know you’ve done more for me than I could have ever dreamed of. You’ve thoroughly changed my life with a single letter and a few memories (which I hope didn’t cause you too much pain to relive, I've gone through the memory removal process and I know it is trying). 

I don’t know if our paths will ever cross again, and I don’t blame you if you rip this letter to shreds immediately after reading it, but if they do i would like to apologize in person. 

Thank you Granger. 

D.M.

Draco didn’t send the letter that night. Nor did he the following morning. He just sealed the parchment in an envelope, closed it with a wax seal and shoved it inside the drawer of his desk. The letter was stupid, half assed, and surly not good enough to warrent any type of orgivness. Lest she ever read it. 

No, Draco Malfoy was under the firm belief that he didn;t deserve any forgiveness, for anything at any time. She should hate, hse should reasonably hate him. For all the logic the little witch has stored in her brain he couldn't figure out where she had decided that defending him was a logically sound choice. 

Perhaps she wrote the letter while intoxicated, under the influence of Firewhiskey. He had witnessed firsthand just how one's thoughts get jumbled and diluted under the magical beverage influence. But an animatedly written letter didn’t explain the research into the clause, the memory vails she's presented, or Harry Potter’s appearance at his trial for that matter. 

It was a pathetic excuse for an apology and a thank you. There were no human words to explain his gratitude, remorse, and confusion. And Draco couldn't half ass that to her, she’d done too much to get a piece of parchment by owl as an apology for her schoolyard bully. He Wouldn't send it. 

By the next morning Draco had only managed an hour or so of sleep. He had stopped having nightmares months ago, thanks to Mrs Herring’s sleep potion. There were even some nights he didn’t take the potion and he awoke the next morning without beads of sweat dripping down his forehead, and without the horrors of the past still plaguing his head. 

Last night had been the exception though. He’d woken around three in the morning to gasping breath and tangled sheets. Groaning, he sat on the edge of the bed, willing the bout of nausea to escape him, either on the floor in front of him or pushed down inside him. Either worked on his behalf it was a matter of which came first. Luck was on his side, and it took him nearly twenty minutes before he was able to lay back down without the urge to vomit.   
When he laid back he was met with an aftermath much worse than having to clean the vomit out of the carpets, like he had almost everyday the first few months he was there. This was decidedly worse. Closing his eyes, all draco could see and hear was the strangled cries from Granger and the vision of blood on the white slab floors. He heard Ron Weasley screaming her name trying to get to her, and he heard the happy gasps from his Aunt as she procured her favorite knife to maim the witch writhing on the ground. 

It wasn’t the worst nightmare he’d ever had, but it was the most common in the spinning wheel of nightmares he had. At first they were similar to clockwork, every day was a scheduled nightmare. Monday- watching his father get tortured, and the Dark Lord threatening to torture his mother. Tuesday - Crabbe falling into the flames of a feindfire. Wednesday - Dumbledore’s body falling from the Astrology tower, Snapes wand still pointed at him. Thursday -Voldemort calling to him from the other side of the battle. Friday - watching Charity Burbach fall on the dining table in the Manor from the Killing Curse. Saturday- listening to Granger’s screams as she was tortured by Bellatrix only a few feet from him. Sunday - the worst one - receiving the dark mark. 

Draco didn’t fall back asleep after that. He laid awake staring at the ceiling boards, counting them like he always did when he couldn't sleep. They were wide, so there weren't too many: on his first night he counted 53, but he later corrected himself when he hadn’t accounted for the half boards by the windows and doors. Technically there were 56 and a half wooden ceiling boards. Draco counted them 3 times. 

By the time morning came Draco wasn’t sure if the events of yesterday were some ill fated dream or if it had all actually transpired. He had to take out both the letters from where he had shoved them in his desk the night before and reread them several times before it sunk it. It was real, he had a way out. A rare smile faded onto his lips as he read and reread both the letter from MACUSA and his unsent letter to Granger - a reminder of his strange guardian angel. 

Gripping the letters one last time he placed them flat on his desk and braced himself for the hound of questions that he was sure awaited him at breakfast. Even if Anna hadn’t mentioned to anyone that she had intersected an owl from MACUSA the previous night, the occupants of the concubine knew he was a trail: after all it was the only way to leave the house. Anna had only left the house for the first time the previous month, being a low-priority for both her home council and the forgein council, she hadn’t met with a lawyer or representative until nine months after her arrival. In comparison, Draco had a meeting outside the house within three weeks of arrival. 

He was the second in the house that had made it to a full trial. Blaise Zabini being the first, however his was rushed because of strenuous and unforeseen circumstances. Draco figured both council’s had to push his timeline forwards by force, not by choice. Now Blaise was back in England on House Arrest in his childhood home, no job awaited him, no access to vaults in the foreseeable future, and certainly no wand at his disposal. 

When Draco’s feet carried him down the hall to the kitchen it was no surprise to him to see a group of eyes staring him down at arrival. Everyone in the home usually woke very early, and went to sleep very early too: no one had been awake when Draco made it home last night except for Anna. It was the uncertainty of the dark that caused this. The unwillingness to be awake and alone with one’s thoughts in the dead of night. Thus, everyone slept when the sun was down, Draco could barely remember the last time he was awake to see a full moon. 

“Well? Am I getting a bathroom to myself? They shipping you to the dementors first thing in the morning” 

“Thoedore Nott that was uncalled for!” The House Owner's voice was distinctively louder than Theo’s tease to Draco. 

“Apologies Mrs. Herring,” Theo nodded before looking at Draco seriously. 

“No azkaban or dementors for me” he gave a faint smile before turning to the kitchen island for a fresh scone that Mrs Herring had prepared. It was Sunday morning, which meant Mrs Herring and her daughter were making scones in every flavour imaginable for the home and for the food shelters in the nearby area. 

“C’mon not even a two week, all expense paid to the cell beside my father? I'm sure he’d get a kick outta you now” Draco didn’t bother responding to him. 

Thoedore Nott's preferred choice of coping strategies was unrequited humour at the expense of his housemates. Whether it was drilling Draco in his so-called ‘invenetble dance with dementors’, Anna’s need to have a book in her hands, Adrian Pucey’s affinity for collecting rocks from the Garden, or Mrs Herring's daughter Octavia’s strange flavour combinations in her scones. Though Draco had to admit that Octavia’s scone flavours had gotten a little strange: lemon and chocolate didn’t work as well as peanut butter and chocolate in his opinion. 

“No they gave me a job actually, and they are giving me my wand back” 

Theo’s jaw hit the floor, and Draco was certain he’d heard a gasp from the almost always silent Astoria Greengrass. Otavio had noticed and stopped stirring her scone batter, and Mrs Herring looked like she was going to cry. 

Mrs Herring had been nothing but sweet and supportive to the dozen or so teens that had been sent to live with her. She knew who their parents were, knew some of them had Dark Marks, and knew exactly why they were there: and she didn’t care one bit. She bought them books from the used book store down the street, and nursed nightmare after nightmare with midnight teas with whoever woke up screaming. Draco was hardly surprised to see the tears welling in her eyes. 

“Oh that's wonderful Draco '' she gase, shoving an extra peanut butter scone on his plate. 

“But how?” Theo asked, jaw still slack and wide-eyed. 

“You might want to sit down mate…” 

“I can stand,” Theo protested. 

“Harry Potter arrived to testify at the trail yesterday as a personal witness. He testified on behalf of himself, and Hermione Granger, who wrote a very strongly worded letter to the council and provided memories on her own accord” 

“Okay yeah I needed to sit down for that'' Theo gaped, reaching behind him for the sofa chair, stumbling back into it. 

Draco was very aware that none of the eyes in the room had left him since he had walked in. Adrian, Anna, Theo, Daphne, Astoria, Marcus, Millicent, Henrietta, Tracey, Octavia and Mrs Herring were watching him like a hawk as he sat down adjacent to Theo, and beside where Astoria sat with a book in her lap. 

“Harry Potter and Hmerione Granger spoke at your trial?” Henrietta Bulstrode confirmed, clearly taken aback. In their first week the whole group of them had discussed what happened in the war - a sort of hashing it all out to try and reconcile with everything. Everyone in the room knew what happened at Malfoy Manor, which made it all the more interesting to them. 

“I’m just as confused as you are, trust me” he confirmed. 

“If you're being given a job, and they are returning your wand, does that mean you’re going to move out of the house?” Henriteea seemed to be the only one in the room capable of forming coherent words from their pacing thoughts, and she was asking the questions everyone seemed interested in: evident by the way a few heads perked closer to him, awaiting an answer. 

“Not yet” he started, a few puzzled faces followed as he clarified. “I’m staying for six more months as they monitor and survey me. I’m technically on five years probation with wand restriction and monitoring too. But for six more months I'll be staying here and then I’m told I can leave. '' Technically the letter had said he was mandated to stay for six months in the home, then he was permitted to leave. It implied he was allowed to stay in his pretty prison if he chose to… he didn’t want to … but if he left, he’d be leaving everyone behind, trapped. 

“I suppose I’ll be getting a notice soon then. About what confines they still have on you. I’ll let you know now that your new situation does not make you immune to my rules, and even with your wand restrictions I will ask some of my own restrictions of your magic while you are under this roof.” Mrs Herring was the first to return to a state of normalcy beside her daughter, chopping up raspberries for the next batch of scones. Her implications about the rules came also as no shock to him, it wouldn't really be fair to have one prisoner outranking the others. 

“Circle back for a second will ya Mrs Herring? I can’t… I have not fully comprehend that Hermione Granger testified at this ferret's trial after everything he put her through. Like mate, did she manipulate a memory or something?” Theo was still wide-eyed, but now forming sentences and the teasing was seeping through his confusion. 

“No, no she didn’t tamper with anything. She actually was very thorough about everything …” 

“... that’s to be expected” Marcus Flint interjected, Draco ignored his morning mood swings and continued. 

“Her letter pointed out how our relocation from Wizarding London was unjustified, especially to those who remain minors under the law” Draco gestured to the three girls on the choice beside him: Anna, Henrietta, and Astoria should all be in fifth year at Hogwarts and preparing to take their OWLs, but instead they were imprisoned across the ocean, two of them orphaned in the war. 

“She used clause 19 of the ‘Family Seniority Objective’, and argued that ‘Death Eater’ was not put into any legislation that regards the acts of minors, making the charges meaningless since I was a minor at the time of all the accusations presented” 

“Sounds like Potter didn’t do much work?” Marcus Chimed. 

“Not entirely untrue” Draco huffed, suppressing a laugh “He delivered the message well enough, and made a point to say that everything Granger had written he believed in. The kicker came at the end when he revealed he was holding my wand when he took down Voldemort at last” Draco could almost feel Anna cringe from beside him: she’d never liked hearing his name, even if it wasn’t a taboo anymore. He shot her a quick apologetic look. 

No one spoke for a few long, breathy seconds. Then Theo filled the empty void. “Okay I need to make a list of everyone I offended at Hogwarts. Twice the luck if they are war heroes it seems, like how the fuck did the two of them come to the conclusion that you needed saving?” 

“Theodore!” Mrs Herring scolded his use of language, that was one of her many rules: no cussing, no cursing, and no verbally saying you wished you could hex someone because it counted as a threat. 

Theo didn’t bother apologizing this time, he just giggled to himself and threw an arm around Daphne Greengrass who was knitting beside him. Probably another blanket, she’d been addictively knitting weighted blankets for months after the discovery that feeling weighed down curbed nightmares for some of them. 

Draco laughed as he saw Octavia trying to hide her smile underneath the bag of flour at Theo’s crude language. Despite her mother’s firm assertion that Octavia was not to laugh when they disobeyed the rules, the poor girl had found it increasingly harder to suppress her laughter as she became friends with all of the concubines. 

The rest of the morning went along without further disruption. On Sunday’s they were required by the Ministry to submit one “line of realization”. It could literally be anything they wanted - the task was only a safeguard for the ministry to make sure that every person apart of the relocation program was of decently sound mind and alive. At first Draco used the task to express his distaste for the program - but Mrs Herring was responsible for reading them over and she promptly discarded those entries. 

One time Theo evaded Mrs Herring's approval reading and tried to mess with them. He wrote that he thought sandpaper was a suitable alternative to toilet paper and the next morning there was a mind healer at the door to make sure he hadn’t gone mental. That was the first time Draco had seen some of the younger ones laugh the entire time they had been there this far. 

They sat in the lounge, all with parchments in their laps at noon. It was ritualistic to write the mandated realizations together, almost a way of comforting each other by simply knowing that everyone was in the same predicament. They were at least, now Draco had a few new things on his mind, and not all of them pertained to his eventual escape from his pretty prison that was filled with scones and the laughter of friends. 

Draco quickly scribbled down the one thought that was overpowering them all. 

‘I owe a lot of people a lot of apologies.’

***

Hermione Granger really had wanted to be present at the trial of Draco Mafloy. But the urgent call from McGonagell stopped her a mere hour before she and Harry were set to take an international Portkey to the United States. At first she suspected she could write her old professor a condolences notice, saying she was unavailable for a meeting. That was until she read the first line of her letter. 

‘Hermione, I have been given access to all the missing students legal files - H.M.M.’

That halted any chance of her leaving the country. She quickly scribbled a letter for Harry to read on her behalf, and handed him the two memory vials when he came to pick her up. He gave a small smile before rushing her to McGonagell with the promise to update her the minute he came back. It was a pity smile really, Harry wasn't optimistic in the same sense that she was. Despite knowing that none of the people fostered into the relocation program deserved it, Harry knew that both the English and the United States Ministries would try to uphold their hastily created program in the face of questioning. 

Hermione had had qualms with it from the first report on the Daily Prophet. It was something about the way that they reported it being a ‘program for troubled young witches and wizards’ that sat queasy in her stomach. 

Who were they to judge those children? Actual children who were simply following the orders of their parents. Children who were raised with a certain mindset. Children who knew no better, or did, but could’t relieve themselves of their situation without facing extreme danger. 

That was one of three articles. The second one gave a detailed list of all the children of death eaters who are being summoned into the program - they had made it seem like a choice at first, but it never was, that much was obvious. The second article served as a warrant and watch list. If you saw one of the people listed on the streets you were obliged to report them so they could be relocated and ‘protected’. Hermione herself only recognized a handful of the people listed. Her eyes scoured the three full pages of names alphabetically looking for former classmates. 

When her eyes landed on Draco Malfoy she paused. The last she’d heard of him was that he had fled the country alongside his Mother to escape his father’s Demntor’s Kiss date. But his name on the paper bore into her eyes and she knew one thing for certain. 

He didn’t deserve it. None of them did. 

The third report the Daily Prophet published was a triumphant exclamation to wizarding society that their safety had been secured. Whom they were referring to was not explicitly stated: and Hermione didn’t have to read the whole article to know what they implied England was safe from the children of death eaters. The children were the threat they now faced according to the Ministry. 

After that, the reports stopped. If anyone wanted information on ‘The Relocated’ they had to go through a lengthy filing process, obtain a referral from an Auror or lawyer, and submit to questioning as to why they wanted such information. The only reason Hermione had found out the trial date for Draco Malfoy was because of newly appointed Headmistress McGonagell and Blaise Zabini. 

The Hogwarts Headmistress had owled her a list of students who were supposed to be enrolled that year that had never shown up. Staring Down at the dozens of nems was how she found out how widespread and juvenile the program was. It wasn’t just the adult children of Death Eaters that the Ministry had mandated be relocated , it was all the children, even the school-aged ones. 

Hermione had to floo herself to the Burrow that evening. Showing the list to Molly Weasley as the two of them broke down in tears by the fire. There were first years on the list. Pure-blooded first yeast who had been ripped away from england and placed in hostels, and were being deprived of their education. 

Draco Malfoy’s name was on the list too. Like herself and many of the other sevenths years, he had requested to return for an half of the witch year. Most of them only went from September to Christmas, electing to take their NEWTS early and be done with schooling. He had never shown up because he had been imprisoned away. 

As Headmistress McGongell was given reason for their absences, detailed in a long roll of parchment with their names and place of relocation. Upon requisition, the Headmistress did not hesitate to send the parchment to Hmerione via owl at the Burrow that night. 

That very night she and Molly Weasley spent hours by the fire, scouring the list, cross-referencing it with the list in the papers, and writing letters to any Wizarding Legal Organization that had open-owl networks. 

It burned Hermione’s blood to think that the wizarding government's best choice for rehabilitating the children of death eaters was rejection and abandonment from society. None of the files that pertained to the care of the minors were public records, and the trials, once they were to begin, we're not on;y heavily delayed, but near impossible to find the dates and witness lineups for. Molly had summarized that most of the younger ones, below fourteen and without dark marks, would likely be released within the first anniversary of the battle. 

But that day came and went with no Daily Prophet reports of the return of Death Eater’s children to London. That made Hermione furious. 

The week after the battle she’d received a letter through the Muggle Postal Service at her flat. Addressed to her and Harry from Blaise Zabini, the letter detailed the exact conditions, restrictions, and situation that he had been in while under MACUSA supervision. Her gut only sank further as she read on, learning that the youngest in his particular situation had just turned fifteen before he had been able to leave. Hermione recognized the name from her list, Anna, Blaise’s letter said that their host had been gracious and kind but he knew that not everyone was privy to such a lucky situation. 

It was the last paragraph that really made Hermione’s eyes bug out of her head. Balaise Zabini related the trail date of one Draco Malfoy, and had asked her and Harry for anything that could prevent his friend from receiving the Kiss like his father had. Blaise had been asked by Malfoy’s lawyers to speak at the trial, but he had declined and instead offered the two of them. 

Hermione read the letter five times over before sending it to Harry. They collected as much as they could, adamant that his trail would not be the only one they would try to speak to, but both of them were vehemently aware that Draco Malfoy’s trail would certainly be the hardest. 

But Hermione didn’t go. McGongaell’s owl stating she had been given access, or found a way to attanacess, to all the missing students files within the Legal Department of the Ministry meant that Hmerione could start compiling testimonies to speak at their trials as well. Getting those records had taken up most of her brain space since she and Molly had scored the list at the Burrow, and Molly had suggested that Hermione try to do something. 

Hmerione had never been sure what her life would look like after she completed her NEWTS. Harry was fast-tracked to the Ministry Auror program, Ron had started working in the joke shop with Fred, and Ginny was being scouted for the HolyHead Harpies as she was completing a full seventh year at Hogwarts. It, however, did not take much of Molly Weasley’s mother convincing to have Hmerione dead set on compiling as much information of the legal status of the relocated students. 

McGnagell had indeed been able to secure the legal files off all the missing students. Piled high in an empty classroom were stacks on stacks of bound parchments and she had the Headmistress spend hours coming through. They had gotten through roughly one third of all the piles before sundown, and the daunting task of deciding which children would get her attention made her insides cold. They all deserved help, but some cases would certainly be more tirkcy than others: none as tricky as Malfoy’s.

Her filing and note-taking had been clouded by thoughts of the trail happening across the ocean. Of Harry watching the memories she’d given and reading her very pointed letter to the crown of council members. Malfoy probably smirked characteristically at seeing him upon arrival, the ungrateful bastard. 

McGonagell shooed her out of the castle just after sundown, demanding she get rest. It was apparent to the both of them that her thoughts were disrupted with the trail as she awaited Harry’s play by play. She doubted there would be a report in the paper. Rita had lost interest in the relocation program a mere two months after it was proposed, instead focussing on the tumultuous love stories of war heroes, too much there were many. 

As far as she could gather from any of her recent publishisng, and the files she and McGonagell as sorted through, Draco Malfoy was only the second ‘Relocated’ person to stand a trail, the frist being Mr Zabini.Is Skeeter was going to report anything, it would be this: ‘The Fate of General Luscous Malfoy’s Demented Death Eater Son, Will he get the Kiss?’ Hermione could almost see the headlines in the papers for the following morning: if there were headlines that was. 

When she returned to her small flat Harry was not there like she had expected him to be. The trail was set to end in the afternoon, and their return protkey was hours before she had left Hogwarts. Sighing, she dropped her charmed clutch and set about making a pot of tea to calm both her head and the pit of uncertainty in her stomach. 

The patter of tiny claws at her window snapped her out of her trance-like state as she stirred her honey in her teacup. She hand;t even added the hot water or herbs yet, she mindlessly string honey in an empty cup, thinking about all the ways the trail cud have possibly ended… or if it was still going on. 

Tap. 

She placed the cup down and went to her window. Pulling back the simple drapery she saw a very common barn owl with an envelope enclosed in its claws. That's strange: owls usually carry scrolls of parchment, not muggle envelopes. Patting the gentle creature on the head, she sent in oh its way before even glancing down. She put the envelope on the table near the sofa, decking it was a problem for the morning after she found out what had happened at the trail from Harry. 

If she had looked down to read however, she would have noticed the return address being American.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all, chapter Two and Three were posted at the same time so keep on going. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy, be sure to leave any comments if you have any, I'd love to hear from you 
> 
> : )


	3. Taste of Freedom

Hey Hermione,  
Long time no see, Draco’s gonna kill me for this … 

***

The night before Draco Malfoy’s first day as a Ministry intern was less than restful to say the least. The entirety of the house had returned to their bedrooms before the sun went down, regular timing for everyone. The night was blissfully cool, the kind of weather one anticipates in the springtime. The air was thin and windy as they all retreated, the darkness of night primsing to scare them into their senses should they awaken.

At two in the morning Draco was abruptly woken up to loud bangig on the wooden door to his bedroom. BANG BANG BANG. Tearing off the covers hastily, and groaning into the pitch black of his bedroom, he tore his rigid body up from the war comfort of his bed. His sleep hadn’t been restful to be kind about it, but sleep was sleep nonetheless, and being woken up in the confines of night meant something was wrong. 

BANG BANG BANG

The banging on his door grew hasty and irregular. Fear arose in him as he recognized that he was likely to walk out into chaos in the hallway.

It happened sometimes. Even without their wands a witch or wizards power can be access wandless, nonverbally, and most commonly accidentally. In the first few nights no one had any sleep. Instead the darkness of night was filled with the sounds of glass shattering and furtincture falling as the groups of abandoned children couldn't get a grasp on their emotions. By morning they had collectively shattered thirteen windows, torn down three wall mounted bookshelves, and almost half the furniture had to be repaired by Mrs Herring. All by accidental magic. 

Now it only happens occasionally. Sometimes they wouldn't even notice until the morning when a window was cracked, or the cupboards were open. The pain of nightmares often inflicted accidental magic…. Especially on the younger ones who couldn't control anything. 

BANG BANG BANG

With a heavy sigh, Draco opened the door to find Theo standing there. Shirtless, hair tousled, and scratched on his shoulders. Theo looked like he'd either been shagged relentlessly, or had fought something. And guessing by the panic written on his face, Draco was guessing it was option number two. 

“Wha--” Draco didn’t even get a mangled question out before the sound of glass shattering filled the hallway and Astoria came bursting out of the girls bathroom with blood on her hands and shirt.  
She backed herself into the adjacent wall and slid down quickly. Her eyes were cloudy and hazy, and she was staring at seemingly nothing, eyes still locked on the bathroom door that had shut behind her as she abruptly ran away from it. She was going into shock. Draco had seen the expression many times, lived it himself a handful too. It was easily recognizable to him. 

Theo got to her first while Draco scrambled to pull a shirt over his head from the pile on top of his dresser. Theo took Astoria’s writes in her hands and jerked her to look at him. It looked rather rough, but with practiced finesse he had in handling the nightmares that frequently tremored the housemates, Draco could tell that Theo had not hurt her. 

“Tori? Tori whats happening?” Theo urged, holding her wrists away from herself and into his lap tightly, lest she try to lunge for him in her shocked state. 

Astoria was prone to violence when scared or shocked. One or more times Draco had woken up to one of her nightmares when she lunged for Tracey Davis. When Asortia would eventually wake from her state of confusion, she would be horrified and lock herself away. For being such a quiet and compassionate creature, when Astoria was mangled from the terrors of her dreams, she was volatile and urgent for violent release. Draco suspected that the scratches on Theo’s shoulder were from previously restraining her. 

But the blood that sprincked Astoria’s arms and shirt appeared to be her own, seeping through the thin cotton fabric in time.

“Not me” she rasped, looking hurriedly behind Theo and catching Draco’s eyes - “Anna” she whispered. 

Draco felt himself grow cold. Before anyone could say anything, or before Draco could really stop himself he sprinted from his room and into the bathroom that Astoria had just burst out of. He faintly heard Tori mumbles as Theo tried to calm her down - ‘she woke up screaming again’ - ‘ told her to take a cold shower’ - ‘ they help me’ - ‘ went to check’ - ‘ shouldn't have done that’ -

Draco nearly ripped the door off its hinges in desperation to open it. 

If you could give the definition of bad, Anna had it worse. She was responsible for half the windows shattering on their first night, and almost all of them since. After Anna burst the pipes in a stunt of extraordinary accidental magic when Theo once tried to wake her up; Mrs Herring set a rule that no one was allowed to interfere with her until she got there. Mrs Herring was the only one with a wand, and thus could magically restrain Anna and put her in a comatic stasis. It wouldn't take away her nightmares, but it would make sure she wouldn’t cause harm to anyone, including herself. 

Where Astoria’s violence came in the aftershock of her nightmares when she was awake, Anna was almost always unconscious and oblivious when she had accidental magic - Astoria had impulses to stop what she thought was an attack in her aftershock, whereas Anna’s magic was relentless and completely unsuspecting. 

When Draco wretched the door open he found Anna curled in the shower. Still fully clothed with freezing cold water spraying down on her, washing away the red blood that trickled on the walls of the room. Her eyes were closed, tears streamed down her pained face, and she was rockinger herself on the ground; her head hit the stone wall behind her everytime she rocked backwards. 

She had fallen back asleep. 

She had fallen back asleep and accidentally shattered the glass of the shower as the nightmare overtook her again. 

Draco suspected that Astoria had walked in right as the glass shattered, and her blood was from the glassing penetration into her skin. Anna seemed to be unharmed and still passed out, unaware of the blood-mixed water pooling around her, and the glass shard that was embedded into the arms that hugged her legs close to her torso. 

Just as Draco went to reach for her, his feet locked in place and his legs stiffed. His upper body still had mobility, and he turned to see Mrs Herring with her wand drawn at him, giving him a pointed look. A silent scold for disobeying her rules: wait for her if it's Anna. 

Behind her Octavia was kneeled beside Theo and Astoria. Theo held Astoria’s arms behind her back, her head rested holding his shoulder as she winced. Octavia had her wand drawn and had it pointed at Astoria's torso, carefully removing the glass shards from her skin and muttering healing spells while Theo tried to comfort her. For a brief second Draco wondered where Daphne was, but the thought was replaced with Mrs Herring's voice. 

“Draco, I know you think you can help but you can’t” Mrs Herring walked past his frame. She had stunned him from the waist down, locking him in place but still mobile and conscious enough to react. It was a small act of grace from her, she knew how he felt. 

Draco had increasingly grown to care for Anna like she was family. A little cousin, or sister, would be the best way to describe his relationship with her. 

They all had someone to lean on. Tracey and Astoria were friends from childhood. Astoria and Daphne were sisters, as were Henrietta and Millicent. Daphne and Theo had connected and often spent the nights in each other's rooms, by default Theo felt the need to protect Astoria, taking on a role as big brother after getting close with Daphne. Adrian and Marcus had a passive friendship … though Draco had often suspected there was something more. He and Theo were close friends, and he felt a compulsion to protect Anna. 

She was so small and naive. She was scared, but was relentlessly refusing help. Draco was the first person to get her to talk about anything that wasn’t Octavia’s baking or a book she was reading. Since then he felt he had a reason to be there. If not awaiting cruel punishment and atoning for his sins, he could at least chalk up his imprisonment to a higher meaning. To be able to help her. 

Mrs Herring cast a very quick stunning spell on Anna and her rocking immediately halted. Still sleeping, and now entirely immoble, Mrs Herring conjured up a potion and tipped Anna’s head back to pour the contents down her throat. Muttering an incantation under her breath, she forced her to swallow the potion and stepped back to cast a drying spell over her soaking body. 

Mrs Herring then turned back to Draco and pointed her wand at his torso. He waited for the signature feeling of rippling in his muscles to indicate he was free of the stunning spell before attempting to step. 

“Take her to her room, but then you leave” she looked pointed at him again “She won’t have an outburst again and the potion will help ease her nightmares to a certain extent, but she’ll be scared when she wakes up. I’ll be there after I check on Astoria and I'll stay with her. You have a busy day tomorrow, and need to rest, and not worry”. 

Draco only nodded in confirmation before slipping past Mrs. Herring’s short and stout frame towards the now shattered shower frame and Anna’s still body. 

He carried Anna back to her bedroom gingerly, careful not to jerk her. It had no chance of waking her up after Mrs Herring's spell and potion dosage, but Draco was paranoid even the slighted miscalculated move would hurt her. He didn't know if the fear stemmed for her sake, or his fear of hurting another person in his life. 

Draco did not go back to sleep that night. 

He laid awake and stared at the ceiling until the glow of the morning sun shone through the thin curtain in the window. 

*** 

He’d been sent a pair of professional robes the day before by owl. A used pair it looked, by the fact that the tags were clipped off, and some of the stitching by the buttons was obviously resewn. For someone who’d once pawned and obsessed over what he’d worn, Draco didn’t blink an eye at the obviously renowned pair of robes. 

It was clothes, “new” clothes. He hadn't had something he could consider as new since the previous Christmas when Mrs Herring gifted all her inmates warm scarves and sweaters to help them fight off the cold during the nights. As much as the letter embossed sweater reminded him of the Weasley gang, he wore the green cardigan all winter. 

His mother had been the one who’d taught him to be diligent about his appearance, and she was nowhere near him to scold him on the ridiculousness of wearing reused robes at the moment. Narcissa was locked in Malfoy Manor, and sinstcinly not allowed to receive mail. 

Draco dressed himself and was sent an escort to apparate him to the Ministry. He couldn’t apparate without a wand, and even when he got it back he assumed he’d be limited to certain locations of apparition, as per the travel restrictions outlined in his letter. 

Upon landing he’d been slightly awestruck by the grandeur of it all. The MACUSA headquarters was more grand than the English Ministry. He’d ;earned about it in school, that because it was built far later than the English establishment, the infastirve available had allowed for more spectauflar architecture and magical abilities within the actual buildings contraction. 

Looking up he noticed the ceiling was enchanted much like the Hogwarts Great Hall was. Sunlight streamed down, despite him knowing there was floors above his head. It was warm as it kissed his face, and noticed several mail-birds whizz by. The folded parchment gliding its wings through the air magically bound to the walls of the establishment. 

It was beautiful and open. He hadn't experienced the feeling of openness in so long. 

Draco drank in the sight and feeling before being tugged slightly by the arm that had grabbed him to apparate. 

“When you get to the elevators click the button that says “Bureau of War Reconciliation and Rebuilding”, once the doors open you will be right there and someone will meet you to lay out your restrictions and wand limitations” The Witch pointed him in the direction of the brass elevator in the centre of the open gallery. 

Draco only nodded as he ascended before marching steadily through the marble floors and into the enclosed elevator. The enclosement felt more familiar than the openness of the ministry’s headquarters, He was idly used to confining spaces. His room, the hallway, the kitchen, the wards kept them from running off the grounds of the house. Confines were home. 

The witch had been right, right when he clicked the button he felt a wisp of cold hair against his face, rattling his bones and pushing his robes off center slightly. Then the doors opened again and he was faced with three pairs of eyes, seeming to be awaiting his arrival. 

It was the tallest one that made any movement, the other two looked scared out of their pants, like he could injure them. Draco internally scoffed, he wasn’t much without his wand, let alone much with it too. 

“Mr Malfoy, My name is Lena Goldstien, Head of the Bureau of War Reconciliation and Rebuilding” she outscretched her hand as Draco stopped out of the brass confines of the elevator. Forcing a steady smile to hide his apprehension, Draco shook her hand in his, carfi not to assert too much pressure for it to be perceived as threatening. 

“This is Kurtis Hoss, He will be your Reporting Manager” Lena gestured to the short man at her left. He made no effort to try and outstretched his hand, instead nodded kindly in his direction, and Draco saw a hint of Mrs Herring in the way he stood. Mrs Herring was not a fan of physical contact, inserted opted for nonphysical and verbal cues, Draco guessed so would he. 

“And this is Neldan Tins, he will be your Probation Officer and Restriction’s Monitor. He will also act as your Legal Support while you are under Ministry surveillance” 

“I have a Legal and Probation Officer, Headon Clearwater, he had been my representative and monitor since I was relocated” Draco intrigued, he hadn't meant to interrupt, but none of the letters he or Mrs Herring had received indicated a change in surveillance over him. 

“Yes, however Mr Clearwter is not a Ministry employee. His duties mainly pertained to layer duties while you were awaiting trial. Now that you have set terms, and they include more freedom, the Council decided you required a new representative. I assure you Mr Tins is more than prepared for your case, and he received all your files extensively” Lena was gently smiling and that curbed his anxiety slightly. 

It wasn’t that Draco was upset about a change in monitor, it was more the uncertainty of a new person looking through his entire file. His father’s and mothers records came along with his, as well as all the mind healing session notes. Another person was being given access to his headspace and homespace - he would have liked to have been warned. 

Besides the two men looking as apprehensive to him, as he was to them, Lena seemed extensively calm and enthusiastic about the whole situation. 

“With me” she ushered, and the three men followed like lap dogs in her trail. Hoss and Tins following as a pair, and Draco behind the triangle formulation they had made. As she walked, she talked: 

“There is the ‘Death Eater Catching’ division, they work closely with the Auror’s in order to track down and contain the few remaining followers on the run. Beside them is the ‘House Arrest Monitors’ , there are only a few of them in the United States, as most people placed in House Arrest are in Britain. The ‘Trails and Legal Applications Office' 'is down the far right hallway, they are highly guarded twenty four seven. ‘Documents and Records’ is on the far left, you will need an accessor to accompany you there.” 

She stopped, and they all halted behind her. 

“Your division is the ‘Artifact Trace’ division. Hoss will take you there after we are finished with orientation” 

At her words exactly Hoss walked off to the door with that title written on its plaque and Lena opened the door behind her to reveal a small meeting room with an oval table. “Mr Malfoy, please take a seat while Mr Tins and I debrief you on the restrictions of your employment here” he nodded and sat down at the nearest chair. 

“As per your brief instructional letter that was sent earlier this week, you will have your wand returned to you. There has been extreme proaction placed in your case, and as such your wand has extensive restriction. You will only have apparition capabilities within the city, if you try to leave beyond the city's ley lines you will be automatically apparated to a holding cell within the Ministry’s holding division.” Draco nodded, and Tins continued in Lena’s stead. 

“- You will not be able to cast any Dark Magic with your wand, this includes being able to track Dark Magic signatures, any blood-binding spells, and any curses. As an extra precaution you will also not be able to cast hexes that have permanent damage capabilities. You will be able to cast stunners, this is in place for your protection.”

“Do you understand these terms?” Lena asked him to verbally confirm. 

“Yes Mrs Goldstein” He had braced himself for the restrictions. The fact that he was being permitted to cast stunners came as a shock to him, he’d expected to be left completely unable to cast any self or external inhibition spells, even if it was for protection. He guessed what happened in England was causing some concern for the relocated safety. 

“Oh please, it's Lena. Mrs Goldstein is my mother” She placed a solom hand over her heart. 

“Right” he stuttered. 

Mr Tins removed a long box from his cloak and placed it on the table. He opened it and Draco gasped slightly. It was his wand, or rather, his original wand. In sixth year his Father had sent his wand away to be professionally enhanced; upon its return Draco barely recognized it under the black paint and an added handle. 

What was in front of him was his original wand. Ten inches long, no longer with an added two inches of snakeskin handle, deep brown Hawthorn wood, not black and silver painted.

“Hawthorn and unicorn core, springy” Tins remarked “ That’s a good wand there, consistent and reliable. Notably hard to turn to the Dark Arts”, Tins eye him up and down carefully reading his facial expression and body language for signs that Draco was unhappy with the fact. 

Draco gulped, he knew that. His father had been rather disappointed in the fact that Draco’s wand limited his ability to be a Death Eater’s son. Draco now regarded his wand core as a secret blessing, a way to spare him somewhat from the plans his father made for him, he'd never had to cast an Unforgivable - he physically never could. 

“Yes, Rather difficult indeed. I regard that fact as a blessing now I think. That I wasn’t able to conjure enough Dark Magic to cause much harm” Draco invented every word he said, hoping to ease any tensions in the Probation officer’s face. He seemed more than uncertain about his loyalties. For certain Draco had caused enough harm to earn his punishment, if not by his own wand, but by compliance and bystanding. 

The rest of the day went by in a flurried blur. 

Restistions to his vaults: he could access them weekly and only obtain a certain amount, like a child; allowance. His salary as a Ministry intern was directed into his vaults, it was made certain that the money he was retaiving was his salary, and not his inheritance. That had not been turned over to him, and would not be unto his probation had ended. 

His living situation was explained in extensive detail. He was required to remain at the Relocated residence e for six months to the day. After then he was permitted to leave if he chose to, if he chose not to he would need to change his rooming situation, and likely be asked to move into the main house with Mrs Herring and Octavia , otherwise he would be costing the Ministry money to stay. If he stayed it would be as a guest of the homeowner, not as a Ministry delinquent, and it would be entirely up to Mrs Herring if he was allowed to. 

His job title was basic enough: ‘Artifact Trace Researcher’. He would spend most of his time in the records department or at his desk researching the magical traces of artifacts lost or misplaced in the war. If he encountered any with traceable Dark Magic he was required to report it to Mr Hoss, otherwise he was responsible for using magical binds and the artifacts trace to locate it for a liaison team to find it. 

For it being an interns reporting job, it was really detailed work. Mr Hoss had shown him the records department, and taught him the intention to inspect old archives without having to touch them and risk damage. 

Trace Magic wasn’t difficult in terms of knowledge and wandwork, just time consuming and sometimes tricky to pinpoint. It was usually extensive charmwork, he’d once heard Professor Flitwick recall his research in Traces and called them ‘stubborn compasses’. Draco thought the sentiment was fitting after being shown the Trace Manual. 

By day's end his head was filled to the brim with new information. He hadn’t broken for lunch after the orientation like Lena had encouraged, He just sat at his whitwood desk and reread the Trace Manual while twiddling with his newly returned wand. He spent the whole afternoon reading the case overviews of the first two artifacts he was asked to locate. Each artifact had a week allotted on the calendar before a report was due, and he expected a long adjustment period would not be awarded to him. 

Draco hadn’t even realized the clock struck five, indicating he was free to leave, until he heard a knock at the door. It was Lena. 

“You’re an eager one” she laughed to herself standing in the doorway of his office. Another thing he wasn’t expecting to receive was an enclosed private office with a clang door … that locked. Even his bedroom at the house didn't have a lock on it. 

“I suppose I am,” he sighed, placing the Manual down. 

“Worked out well enough it seems, you have someone requesting a meeting with you in Boardroom two” Lena turned to leave upon giving her information. Draco was surprised that the Head of the office had been able to spare so much of the day with a supposed criminal intern. 

Even more confusing was the prospect that he was being requested for a meeting. Him. on his first day, as a criminal intern, in a forgen country. It was strange, and vaugier usps is enough for him to grip his wand in the pocket if his robes as he approached the door to boardroom two. 

What awaited him behind the door was much more alarming and confusing than expecting to be attacked by a vindicte witch or wizard. 

No, instead of being stunned and cursed on sight, Draco Malfoy had completely frozen in the doorway, the brass knob growing warm under his increasingly tight grasp that he couldn’t release on it. 

This was a dream, it had to be, he thought to himself. Or a conjured image that obscured reality. Someone else had to be in the room and casting the figure that stood intently before him, hands on their hips. 

Bushy curls curls, determined brown eyes, and sage green robes awaited him instead. 

Hermione Granger. 

She gave a small smirk as she eyed him up and down. Rescued robes, flustered in shock ,and stunned in pace: Draco guessed he looked rather different from his school yeast, or from the battlefield where she last saw him. He noted that she didn;t look afraid of him, like he thought she would be, like she should be. Instead she was studying him inequality with an equal shock and intrigue. 

He tried to make a move into the room but he stumbled slightly, earring a suppressed laugh from her as he stretched himself out in horror and embarrassment. 

Granger tossed two pieces of parchment on the oval boardroom table that stood between them. Draco looked down, and with terrified recognition, saw his own handwriting staring back at him. 

“Is there a reason Theodore Nott had to mail me your letter Malfoy?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all for today, I'll do my best to update early next week by the latest. 
> 
> I hope you've enjoyed :)


	4. England in America

Hey Hermione,

Long time no see, Draco’s gonna kill me for this. 

I found this letter while snooping in his room, yes that’s very Slytherin of me thank you for noticing. 

That’s not the whole point though, don’t fret your pretty Gruffindor head about my snooping and Mr Ferrets beloved privacy rules.

Draco told us you testified as a personal witness to him, and his character. While I have my own questions about your intentions and why the hell you defend that git in court, I need your help. 

Actually we all need your help. You, Potter’s, and if you can manage party member three of the Golden Trio that would be bloody brilliant; Merlin knows the British Ministry is no help whatsoever (I know this mail gets checked by MACUSA, so no that’s not insubordination or defiling my rules under the ‘Relocated Act’, merely an educated guess). 

We don’t even have access to our own cases. My Father worked in the Ministry, and I know that’s all kinds of illegal. Half of the people sent to the United States are minors - Granger they are kids!

You were always so determined - albeit annoying about it - to fight for SPWOL (or whatever bloody name you gave that elf thing), and you need to channel that elsewhere now. 

I know it was probably a one time thing, a way to show once and for-all that you Gryffindor’s were better than Draco ever teased you lot about. But come to America, see for yourself how bloody stupid this program is (Again, just an educated guess based off of observation. Not a threat to MACUSA official legislation); sorry I have to disclose that, they read our mail. 

So yes, I snooped, because Draco’s story was too good to be true, and I want that for all of us. Also because once I say that letter it was too bloody good to not send it. We need help, and right now you seem to be the only person capable, and willing, to give it.

I also think he really did want to send that letter… so maybe don’t blow his head off if you decide to come and see the program in action. 

Best, 

Thoedore Nott 

***

Draco had to read the letter three times over; both Theo’s and his own. He didn’t remember half the things he had written in his sleepy, adrenaline filled haze the night of the trail less than a week ago. 

Theodore Fucking Nott was always in everybody’s buisness. Especially his it seems. 

He couldn't fully blame him though, Malfoy hadn't thought to hide the letter in a more concealed space. Theo had a habit of snooping in Malfoy’s bedroom for spare shirts, parchment, books, pretty much anything he didn't have in his own room. Of course Theo’s curiosity would get the better of him, and he’d look for the letter that MACUSA sent. 

The letter he had written to be for Granger was on top of it in the stack of parchment, Draco hadn't look at it since then, he never noticed it was gone. 

Theo’s snooping tendency was not what shocked him, not even that Granger had read the pathetic letter he never sent. No, what was shocking was that she was there, here, in America per Theo’s (and technically) by his. 

She had not come for the trail, and that fact had convinced Malfoy that she probably couldn't bear to see his face without thinking of the horrors that happened inside his Manor. Despite Saint Potter’s insistent confirmation that she had gotten “held up in England”, Draco had been sure there were ulterior reasons. 

After all, he had trouble just watching the memory she had provided along with her testimony. He had trouble being in Malfoy Manor after all the horrors he witnessed. She had every reason to never chance a look at him again. 

But here she was. Hermione Granger in America, In the MACUSA building in his division. Asking for him no less. Arms crossed, smirking at him, teasing how Theodore Nott set her a letter written by him. 

Crap. 

He was supposed to respond to her. He had yet to say anything. Malfoy had quickly pulled the letters from the oval boardtable and read them, expression of shock evident to her. 

“I -” He really did try to answer. He hadn't figured out the exact words. Perhaps it would have been something along the line sof - ‘I was going to try and write that letter before sending it’ - not entirely a lie, or - ‘ I didn’t expect to see you here’ - ominous and avoidant usually didn’t work in his favour, but it was at least in character, she’d expect that.

But he never got the change, she cut him off with anter determined questions: she always did have questions.  
“Is it true? Do you and the other’s really not have access to your own legal documents and criminal portraits?” 

She was looking determined at him, but Malfoy didn’t miss the inquisitorial look in her eyes. It was the same one she had had at Hogwarts in Defence Against the Dark Arts: curious, determined, and somewhat shocked and appalled. It was an interesting expression that she had worn for years, making it easily recognizable. 

By some grace of Merlin, Draco was able to veil his own shock at her appearance in the boardroom, and continue the conversation to answer her question. Despite all the questions his brain was being flooded with, he spoke fluidly back to her: 

“Yes, that’s true. I now have access because my case is closed. But all of the other ‘Relocated’ are not permitted to access their own files without their patrol officer or lawyer present. Even then., my experience was that many of the witness reports and case files were blackened out to me, I have given a partial picture” 

“I knew it,” She sighed, arms falling from their poised crossed position to rst on her hips. Granger looked up at the ceiling and pinched the bridge of her nose, letting out an excghuates sigh as frustration clouded the industrial look that had been placed there before. 

“You knew it?” He asked, not able to help himself. What had the witch so affected by his confirmation? 

“Yes. You probably are unaware of the legal stipulations and media circus regarding your case, and the others in the ‘relocation program’. But back in England there were three Daily Prophet reports months ago, and then it was done. You were all forgotten in the abyss of the war acts. The records are locked, and behind three forms of information censorship: intenet, questioning, and supervision. The only reason I found out about your court date was Blasie Zabini, figures, huh?” 

Malfoy was uncertain if the little laugh that Granger had emitted at the end of her ramble was based on a level of comfortability or sarcasm. Surely she wasn’t comfortable in his presence so suddenly? She had nearly died right at his feet, and now she, a War Hero, was in a magical ministry chatting with a former Death Eater. It was absurd. 

He could only form one word questions. It came off so quickly - his confusion that is- any semble of fluidity that he had before was vanished. 

“Zabini?” He questioned, given her a side-eyed look of confusion. 

He hadn't had an owl from Blaise Zabini in weeks. Even then they were mostly about readjusting to life at home, and the state of his mother, not about impending court dates. 

Granger gave a funny sort of shrug, picking up the parchment that Malfoy had placed back on the table. 

“Yes it seems all your friends have deemed you incapable of saving yourself” she laughed. 

Good to know her fiery temper and need to be incessantly ‘on top’ hadn’t changed. 

She actually laughed, and that forced Malfoy’s brain further into a frenzy. The lack of sleep, the worry that lingered from this morning, the shock of seeing her, and the confusion that followed her comfortable posture on his presence had him thoroughly abstracted from reality. 

A moment of cold silence fell in the boardroom. Between Granger eyes falling between the parchment and his, and Malfoys flickering between the floor and the door. The entire room was in a standstill, with either of them falling short in their thoughts for continuing the conversation. 

Granger was the one to break the deafening and uncomfortable stillness of the air. 

“How was your first day? I hope they weren’t too discriminate towards you, I wasn’t sure how the faculty would react to your employment” 

That last part didn’t shock him, supriskley t didnt shock him. He had been more than ready to accept judgmental stares at the least. He’d really been ready for verbal harassment, though he’d be unable to ward off any hex or magical advances upon arrival if he’d been subjected to them without a wand. 

What gave him the uncomfortable stir of shock was that she’d thought about it. 

Draco Malfoy had been undoubtedly thinking about Hermione Granger the past few days. Thinking of apologies, thank yous, gratitude. He’d not been thinking of how to act in her presence, and certainly not been thinking of how to react to her thinking about him. 

This day was growing curious and curiouser by the second. 

“No hexes or anything of the sort” he huffed, shoving his hands into the pocket of his reused robes. 

Right, that was probably another shocker of the day. Mostly for her part though, how unusual the sight was. Draco Malfoy in reused bacl robes, and Hermione Granger in pristine sage green - opposites for the moment. 

“Though the stars are inevitable. I had been able to cast an ‘undetectable ear extension’ charm on the way in. I would have no doubt heard snickering and insults. All normal these days” he shrugged, it was normal, his normal at least. 

“Well I suppose that’s a blessing. I’d half expected to arrive and been told you’d been taken to Airmid’s” He raised an inquisitive eyebrow at her, unsure of her reference, perhaps it was muggle. “Airmids is the American Healing centre near the MACUSA Headquarters, like St Hungoes. It’s named after a Greek God of healing in Mythology” she informed him, seeing the look. 

“Ah, muggle, I take it,” he remarked. 

“Technically Mythology is a source of literature for both Magical and Muggle. There’s no distinct proof otherwise. Hogwarts had a section of Greek and Roman Mythology you know…” 

“I did not know” he nodded at her strange comment. Of course Hogwarts had a mundane subject that wasn’t technically magical. Through untrue to her point, Malfoy was sure that mythology was an absurd muggle concept, not some distant magical telling that was lost in translation.

The silence returned, Bitter and awarded in the air. Malfoy was the one to break it this time, fitting that they took turns. It was only fair. 

“Is that all then? To see I’m in one piece after you’ve saved me once. Convide you were here for round two?” He tried to joke but his tone was roused in bitterness. Uncanny, of course, he’d actually been trying to be guieun in his joke; feeding off her seemingly comfortable posture around him. 

“Still a git I see, well your friends were right about that then” Theo had called him a git in the letter he sent to Granger, figures that somewhere along the timeline when Blaise had owled her, he had also informed Granger of Malfoy’s remaining prattish qualities.

“ No not nearly all I came for”, she shrugged, plucking her wand from the sindie of her robes, brandishing it to the oval table. 

With a simple curved motion of her light-wooden wand, she had conjured a blank parchment. No quills or ink. Tucking Her wand away, the long wooden dowel was replaced with a thin black metal device. Shorter than a wand, Malfoy noticed, and with a tipped edge much like a quill would have. 

Malfoy shot her a look, picking up on it she suppressed a smile. 

“It’s a pen.” he laughed “Merlin You’ve really not ever seen one? Well I guess that’s fitting, I get to teach you about a filthy little muggle device” Her tone dipped low and mockingly at the word ‘filthy’ - a clear jab at his previous comments about her blood status. 

It made his own blood run cold knowing she had clearly not forgotten about their past. But seemed content, or at least well adjusted enough to make a joke about it. Sarcasm rivalling his own in that moment. Even he coulnd;t muster a joke about that. 

He still didn’t say anything, and she explained herself further. 

“Think of it like a quill with never ending charms put on it so you don’t have to re-dipp. Like the charm, the ink will eventually run-out, but it’s less messy and leaves less splotches” 

They tripled it in her finger delicately before rolling it across the boardroom table that stood between them.

“Click the top and the ink will let you write” she instructed

“You haven’t told me what I’m writing Granger?” 

It was her turn to look caught off guard. For a moment Malfoy felt like a fifteen year-old boy again, brandished in knowledge and inferiority while she looked on at him flustered. It only lasted a minute before her posture returned to normal and he was left with the sinking familiar feeling of guilt festering in his gut. Nausea like something was fluttering in his organs. 

“Right, sorry” She leaned over the table and pushed the parchment to his side, “ I need the names of everyone in your safehouse, their ages, and any information you have on their cases” 

The faces of his ‘cellmates’ frozen Draco's brain. Protective instinct kicked in and he put his guard of defence. She was not getting those names today if it was of his own free will, that was for certain.

“Why?” his tone demanding an answer. His guards went up instinctively as his brows burrowed in what looked like anger, but could then easy be discerned to be worry and fear. His voice dropped a few octaves lower as he stared at the witch in front of him. 

Clearly not expecting him to question her, she jumped slightly at the harshness in his voice, and the berality that he spoke to him. His timidness overrun by his instincts. 

“Because I have partial access to records back at Hogwarts with permission from Headmistress McGonagell. There are hundreds, and I need to start small. Knowing that I know the MACUSA laws better than French laws or The Chinese Ministry translations, I’m starting with the ‘relocated’ in America. I need the names Malfoy” 

“For what? You’ve still not told me for what?” he knew it wasn't technically his place to play guard over all of them. Hell is Flint saw him doing it, he’d laugh knowing that Malfoy was so out of practice with a wand he’d likely not be able to cast a single ‘stupefy’. Not that he planned on hexing Granger, she did get him out of the program, and without a trip to Azkaban or a kiss from a Dementor on the way. No, he was nothing to hex her, but he could bloody well not give her what she wanted. 

“I’m investigating the restrictions and treatment on the Ministry's Relocation Program”, She said, mater-of-factly. 

“Get your information elsewhere then” Malfoy huffed. 

“I’ve already told you the records are sealed by the Ministry. McGonagell has the files, but they are organized by name not location, and even then, some of them omit the location and court dates. Yours does… I got your location and date from Zabini” 

“So it's a matter of convenience?” he asked drying, still initially wanting to guard the information. They had files, they could find a way without him. Still the thought stood in his mind that Hermione Granger had come all the way across the pond for the names of the people in his safe house, to get them from him. It was likely just a matter of convince; he told himself; more fittingly, he screamed it inside his head.

“It’s a matter of urgency” she corrected, straightening herself to stand tall. On full feet and with shoulder’s back it was clear she was still over a foot and a half shorter than him, clearly visible even with several metres between them. “Withholding information is against your probation standards” .

“Withholding information from Ministry officials, Granger, to which I wager you’re not considering we are in the boardroom after hours; and you would be getting your information freely if you were one. So, tell me why.” he was quick to correct her. 

It was easy to flow back into being sharp and demanding against a person so hellbent of making things difficult. Hermione Granger liked to demand things, comforting to see that hadn’t changed with the conclusion of the war. His gratitude for the witch in front of him still rang his brain in circles, but his friends were priority. 

Suddenly Malfoy watched her face soften as a look of sincerity and understanding washed over her. Her hands came out of her robes where she had stashed them in frustration and she mouthed an ‘accio’, and the parchment once at Draco’s side on the table was in her hands and she was folding it away. 

Draco hated the look she was giving him. Possibly more than he hated the fact that he had so easily fallen back to teasing her senselessly the way he had as a schoolboy - rude and volatile, and everything he sought to destroy about himself. 

But Hermione Granger was looking at him with sympathy and reservation. Like one would look at a skittish animal; caring and empathetic but waiting for it to strike violently. 

Malfoy’s eyes flickered to her side. She had her wand out still, and was gripping it firmly at her side. 

She thought he would attack her. The revelation pinched his nerves and fostered the guilt. He had his wand back, so logically he could, and his moment of ferocity about guardian his friends in the program must have sparked her old self-protection instinct. Probation from him. 

He actually wasn’t sure which was worse: the thought that he would attack her, or the sympathy she was giving him. 

He deserved the fear, the warriness. He did not deserve the sympathy. 

“You can put the wand down.” he whispered “ I won’t hurt you, unless you’d like to hex me, then I won’t fight back... assuredly I would deserve that, especially from you” 

She didn’t move. 

Draco took his own wand from his robes pocket, saw him slightly raise hers in defence, before he placed it down on the boardroom table. “See?” he asked. 

He watched her sight, some of the comfortable posture she had at the beginning of their conversion returned as her shoulders slumped down out of their tense position. 

“You’re right” she said calmly, and still in her hands “ I'm not here on Ministry behalf. But I am here to help” 

Draco’s ears perked in her direction, his head followed as she continued talking. Curious. 

“Theo’s right. In his letter, he says it's illegal. I testified at your court hearing that your charges were void under the existing legislation. The only reason the ‘Relocation Program’ was even able to go into effect in the first place was because the Ministry of Magic was in an Emergency Order Situation, and they were facing media pariah’s about what consequences you all would face for your involvement. Otherwise I believe they would have simply put all of the children of death eaters, and underage wizards caught in Voldemort’s frenzy, on probation immediately - maybe seized their wands for a debriefing period at most.” 

Sensing that Malfoy was not going to attack her, Granger placed her wand on the table a metre away from his. An act of solidarity perhaps, to show she would also not strike like he had proposed she might. 

Like he thought he deserved. 

“People were angry and radical following the war. The ‘Relocation Program’ is radical and unjustified, and an exact reflection of the Council’s emotions at the time. Especially for the members who are underage and unmarked. But no legislation covers ‘death Eaters’ or ‘Dark Marks’ either, as it relates to minors. They have made a decision they can’t back out of.”

Malfoy made a face of realisation. Of course he knew the program was ridiculous and radical. Most of the members did not pose a threat and had NEVER posed a threat to begin with. It was publicity and emergency that fueled the program's rushed release and imprisonment of magical children.

But Granger was insinuated that the Ministry was stuck in their decision, which they effectively were after spreading out over a hundred young Witches and Wizards across the globe and then all but abandoned them. They were stuck - did they make what they wanted out? 

“You think they want out? You think the Ministry wants to abolish their own program?” he asked. 

“On the contrary actually; I think they realize the program is a failure waiting to happen once lawyers and legal counsel are involved. I think they realize that they created no boundaries or actual cause for detaining many of the ‘relocated’, especially after my testimony. I think they are delaying court dates, to keep the program running until they figure out an equally radical solution to their own problem. Not a far stretch since they hid all the documentation from the public and even private investigation Aurors” 

“And this has to do with you, Granger, because?” 

“Because it's rubbish and illegal” Granger through her hands up in defence and raised her voice. 

Malfoy smirked at her characteristic response to an instance. Always has to be the saviour, that is, always has to do what's right, the gryffindor that she is. Theo’s letter had talked about her S.P.E.W. program she created while at school, though he called it SPOWL.

“Yes you want to save the world I got that part. Now me? What does it have to do with me?” 

“I got you out, now you owe me” 

“Now that's rubbish! Hermione Granger doesn’t do deals like that. Where is all your little Gryffindor goodness and innocence? You don’t save someone just to use them” 

Deals with the devil are not a Gryffindor’s style. And while he had at one point opted to review her Gryffindor status, thinkin gsh ewas destined for Ravenclaw and the hat had made a mistake, she was a red hearted lion, true and through. 

Malfoy expected her to look hurt, but she barely batted an eyelash at his comment. 

Instead the fucking look of sympathy game back in the form of a glint in her eyes. He really did hate that look, the one where everyone thought he was broken beyond repair. Mrs Herring looked at him that way, sometimes Anna did too. Now he had Hermione Granger looking at him like that. 

“Fine” she huffed “I’ll be outside the MACUSA headquarters at five thirty tomorrow evening. As it stands I’m in America for a week. I’ll come everyday if you decide to show. I’d like that list by Friday.” 

With that she made her exist, slow and quiet. The only noce was the tapping of her nails as she picked up her wand off the boardroom table to take her leave. Lady was left with questions unaware, and more from her last statement about waiting for response to request of a list of his fellow inmates in the program. 

“I’m here to help. You were never good at accepting that” She whispered. 

She didn’t walk out like he'd expected to, expected to make a shuffle away from the door to give her room. 

She apparated away silently. 

He had forgotten the magic allowed you to do that. 

***

Hermione apparated silently out of the boardroom, her stomach clenching at the familiar magical transportation. She had anticipated not being able to get what she requested on her first try. Draco Malfoy was a prick who took help from no one. 

She would have owned Thoedore Nott back and asked for the list through him, but he had disclosed in his letter that their mail was monitored by MACUSA. She doubted a letter with that content would never even reach his hands, likely to be confiscated and ‘incendios’ on sight. 

The Ministry was vague in their information on the ‘relocated’, and it is only fitting that the Character of Draco Malfoy would be too. 

Her knowledge on the program didn’t go past the files McGonagall had procured about transcripts and requests for appeals. 

Charges were usually blackened out of the documentation, as were the location of the so-called ‘safe houses’ for them. Though she found that casting a powerful enough ‘Lumos’ charm behind the parchment yielded faint ink splotches. It was similar to the way muggle investigators solve crimes on their muggle Television programs. It was cheesy and juvenile, but it had worked in her favour when the thought came to her head. 

As it stood, Hermione had a week in America before her international portkey was set to return home to England Saturday evening.

Cagey Draco Malfoy had withheld the list of his partners in the program - and expected time stop on her research. 

She had no idea about their treatment in the house assignments doled out by the ministry. All she had was the confirmation from Theo that mail was allowed to be sent, though it was read and checked thoroughly, and the information Blaise had given. They were clothed, fed, and up-kept in terms of health: usually bored and tired. 

Abandoned by the world, but existing in a pretty prison. 

That’s how Blaise Zabini had described it in his letter; a pretty prison.

Hermione didn’t like that way of describing it. Sure their living situation was likely better to that of an Azkaban cell, and a worlds better than receiving the Kiss, like much of wizarding society said was the best option for the marked children. But isolation, abandonment, and de-assimilation from magical society was certainly not ‘pretty’. 

Whatever happened in the walls of that pretty prison was a mystery. One that she was sure Draco Malfoy was certain to withhold information about for whatever reason. She’d accounted for that much at least, and extended her initial trip from two days to six.

But Hermione Granger was stubborn.Gryffindor courage ensured that stubbornness came at no cost to self eseatm. She was determined to get her answers, no matter how annoying she became to Draco in the week that would follow, after all, he couldn’t really strike her back if he tried to. 

***

He appeared back at the little house in the rural area.

He’d forgotten that apparating causes one’s organs to do an irish jig inside your skin. He resisted every urge to vomit, certain the nightmares that would follow in the dead of night that evening would rid his stomach content anyways. 

Delaying was always appreciated in that sense. 

He was anything but stoic as she crashed through the door of the safe house and barreled down the hallway. He missed Octavia’s “Hello”, and Daphne’s excited “You’re home”. He ran past them at a blinding speed, darting for her door, the one that she had painted butterflies on. 

He didn’t tear the door off its hinges that time, but he nearly screamed a sign in relief when he saw her sitting up in bed, a book brandished against her knees. 

Anna was conscious, and reading. 

Astoria was beside her, also reading, her arm wrapped in gauze, but no blood was peeking through thankfully from Mrs Herring’s healing spells. The gauze was only a precaution for the skin to rejuvenate and heal without further injury. 

The last time Anna had performed such an amount of accidental magic she had been unconscious for over a day. Draco had refused to leave her side for its entirety. Daphne found him asleep on the floor beside her bed, and had tested her prototype weighted blanket with rice beans on him. He had to admit that it was a rather nice slumber with the blanket - he had laid it over Anna when he revoke and she was still unconscious. 

But she was awake now and that was what mattered. And Astoria was seemingly fine, at her side.

“Draco'' Anna tensed, seeing him breathless and in work robes standing in her doorway. 

Draco turned to her, relief washing over his face again - she could talk too - she hadn't snapped her vocal chords like that one time. She couldn't talk for a weak while they were reattached to themselves. It wasn’t the screaming that had done it, though Draco was certain there would be a day when the piercing screams did accomplish that fate. Mrs Herring had told him, it was the glass she had accidentally swallowed while sleep walking and attempting to drink when her magic went off, and she drank tiny glass shards in her water. 

“Astoria, a minute please?” he asked, Tori got to her feet and shuffled out of the room whispering at Draco’s side. 

“She’s okay. I’m okay” Draco nodded at the reassurance, knowing he needed it more than his face was showing, and more than he wanted to admit. Only a few of them would be breaking at a time, they needed to make sure one was sane and healed to take care of the rest. 

Draco rushed to her side instantly, taking his hand backed to her forehead to check for a spiked temperature and ripping the quilt off her to check her clothes for spots where blood was seeping through the fabric. Anna let him, knowing it made him feel better to check thoroughly. He did it every time. She was dressed in a new pair of pajamas, Mrs Herring must have given her a pair of Octvaia’s because they looked different than the ministry regulated ones they were given. 

“Draco, I’m not hurt anymore” 

“You’re sure?” he asked. He only noticed his throat had gone dry with nervousness when he spoke and it came out barley. His voice was dry, and his throat felt parched like he hadn’t drank water in days.

“Yes” Anna was remarkably calm.

To any observer it would have seemed like she was unfazed by the entire experience. By the shattered glass in the bathroom, the bandages on her arms and legs, The bandages on Astoria’s arms and legs. She looked completely unaware and unaffected by of the horrors, or perhaps a sinister mind would consider her psychotic. 

She was anything but. Anna was tedious in who was allowed to see her upset. Mrs Herring and Draco were the only exceptions. If someone who wasn’t them caught her in a state she didn’t deem presentable, she would accidentally shatter a lightbulb in frustration and fear. 

It wasn’t psychotic, they all told her, just a function of trauma. Draco never cared. 

He was always too obsessive about her injuries. She was unbothered most of the time, instead focussed on reading new books, never able to pick up the last one if she had an episode in the middle of reading it. Draco wondered once how many books she had only read half of before discarding. 

“Mrs Herring says you can stay in here for the night if you want. You can conjure yourself a cot now…” Anna smiled as she looked down at Draco’s wand in his pocket, visible only because he had brushed his robes to the side in order to feel her forehead for a fever. 

He often asked to stay in the room after Anna had a particularly bad nightmare and bout of magic. It helped him mostly, not her, knowing she was safe was a little stake of comfort he could take in their secular state. Any comfort he could get in the dark, gloomy atmosphere he existed in he would take, it doubled the comfort knowing he could protect her if something happened,, or if someone got through the wards at night. 

Anna never cared that he stayed, as long as he promised to wake up first and leave before the sun came up so she could be alone when she woke up. 

She never liked waking up with others near her, even the first few nights when everyone had slept in the living area, she would turn around at night to face away, in order to make it feel like she was alone in the morning. Draco obliged everytime, making the cot and leaving before the sun rose. 

“I promise to be gone before the sun comes up” he whispered, tucking the quilt back around her. He was tucking her in like a child, in all respect she was a child, and she still got comfort from trivial routines of childhood. 

Her eyes went wide as he brandished his wand and ‘accioed’ the cot from the supply closet beside the boys bathroom. It occurred to him momentarily that the only wand any of the housemates had seen in almost a year was that of Mrs Herring, the random Aurors, and occasionally Octavia’s. 

“Are you going to go to dinner?” he asked, and silently ‘accioing’ his stack of parchment and quill from his desk to the cot. They still had hours before the sun vanished underneath the back of night. 

“No” she shrugged, drawing her book back up to her knees, settling in to read. He didn’t pressure.

Mrs Herring would come to the room if neither of them went for dinner; she’d bring nourishing potions and dinner and they'd take their pick. They both ultimately picked the potion, as a nightmare seemed inevitable for him, and Anna could’t stomach anything yet. 

Anna fell asleep first, tiredness festering in her body. Accidental magic was still magic, and especially wandless, her body was exhausted and strained from the glass wounds that were healing, and the magical weakness on her body. 

Draco stayed awake until her breathing fully evened out, and he was certain she wasn’t stirring with a nightmare approaching. 

Right as he was about to call at night and turn the lumos charm over his cot off, he noticed the window open and went to close it. 

Staring into the dark abyss and shiver ran up his spine. The dark was unpredictable and the shadows of people could be concealed under the faint glow of moonlight and cover of shrubbery in the gardens. No one was there, he knew that. The glimmer of the ards above his head made sure of that. 

But the thought lingered fiercely in his head, and forced him to close every window in the room before returning his cot. 

The window would never stop and the intruder managed to get into the wards. But it provided Draco with a simple comfort that he needed to sleep at night. A necessary comfort. 

The thought lingered every night once the darkness took over. Someone could be out there despite what the wards protected.

After all; if it happened once, it could happen again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update was a little later than I originally planned for, my university coursework is starting to really pick up this term. 
> 
> In consolation, I'm gonna give you all the next chapter title right now...
> 
> "Chapter 5: Truth and Reconciliation" 
> 
> :)


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